Imaginaerum
by Draic Kin of the Balance
Summary: AU. "It's quite fascinating, what the imagination can conjure. Billions upon billions of fantasy worlds, where anything can happen. Poetry is like silk; the words run as smoothly and quietly as a small river and, when read aloud, can move oceans." [Inspired by Nightwish]
1. Prologue: Taikatalvi

**Imaginaerum**

**By Draic Kin of the Balance**

* * *

My name is Thomas Zane. I'm a poet – or I _was _a poet. It's quite fascinating, what the imagination can conjure. Billions upon billions of fantasy worlds, where anything can happen. Poetry is like silk; the words run as smoothly and quietly as a small river and, when read aloud, can move oceans. By any means, I shouldn't be alive right now. I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I am as I lie on my deathbed.

Welcome to my imaginaerum.


	2. Chapter One: Storytime

"_I am the voice of Never-Never-Land_

_The innocence, the dreams of every man_

_I am the empty crib of Peter Pan_

_A silent kite against the blue, blue sky_

_Every chimney, every moonlit sight_

_I am the story that will read you real_

_Every memory that you hold dear_

_I am the journey_

_I am the destination_

_I am the home_

_The tale that reads you_

_A way to taste the night_

_The elusive high_

_Follow the madness_

_Alice, you know once did_

_Imaginarium_

_A dream emporium_

_Caress the tales_

_And they will dream you real_

_A storyteller's game_

_Lips that intoxicate_

_The core of all life is a limitless chest of tales_." –Nightwish, _Storytime_

* * *

_ She sat by Zane's bedside, clasping his hand in hers. "How much longer does he have?" she asked the doctor. _

_ "A week at the most," the doctor said. "Thomas has been comatose for nine months now. We've done everything we can. All we can do is make him comfortable and wait for his suffering to pass. I'm sorry, Ms. Stark." He glanced at her briefly in sympathy before leaving the room to attend to other matters. Gem kissed Zane's fingers, tears silently slipping down her cheeks. _

* * *

My eyes fly open, and I jolt upright. Where the hell am I? Snow flurries fall from the dark sky. I look around, taking in my surroundings. That is when I hear it. Laughter. A child's laughter. A building lies just up ahead. An orphanage. I shake my head. This can't be possible. _It's the same orphanage I spent so much of my childhood in. _I rise to my feet, and make my way inside. The bitter cold bites at me, and when I'm finally inside, the warmth and comfort embraces me.

"Tommy, Tommy!" I hear a little girl screaming my name. Something about it sends shivers down my spine.

"Hello?" I call out. "Anyone there?" No response. The orphanage is quiet, save for the laughter and screams of small children. It's dawn, and the children are not asleep. It makes no sense. My thoughts are interrupted when a small girl runs over to me, her face alight with glee.

"Tommy, Tommy!" she exclaims. "We're playing hide and seek! You should come and join us!" I smile and kneel down to her level.

"You should all be in bed sound asleep, young lady," I say gently but firmly. "It's midnight."

"But, Tommy –"

"You heard me," I say, and ruffle her hair. I don't mention it to her, but something about her is eerily familiar to me, like a ghost trying to call to me. I can't place my finger on why it feels as if I have known her all my years. It's as if a fog has filled my memories, leaving nothing but blurry images and questions unanswered. She smiles at me before darting off, leaving me to puzzle through it all.

The last thing I remembered was cutting out the heart of the monster that was wearing my Barbara before she – _it – _suddenly lunged for me. The mere fact that I am here in the very orphanage where I spent my childhood tells me that the Dark Presence has trapped me in the oblivion that are my memories. There is no logical explanation for this, for any of it. It's as if I am trapped in a fantasy story, and that this is only the beginning of the story. The young girl runs back to me, a snow globe in her hands.

"I want you to have it, Tommy," she says, thrusting it towards me. Inside of the snow globe, I can see the figurine of a ballerina, awaiting to dance.

"It's beautiful," I tell her.

"The ballerina inside, her name is Arabesque," she explains. She giggles, and I hear a woman's voice call out.

"Gem, come on now. It's past your bedtime," the voice says. My blood runs cold. _Gem? Oh my god._ I hear the sound of a door opening, and turn around, but instead one of the walls has opened suddenly, unveiling the snowy landscape.

"Hello, Thomas."


	3. Chapter Two: Ghost River

"_It's a long road down the river deep 'n wild_

_Every twist and turn a wonder-dale_

_It's a scary ride we'd give anything to take_

_Let yourself bleed_

_Leave a footprint on every island you see_

_Hey you, child of rape, the riverbed awaits_

_Snow white, pitch-black, your life such strife_

_Heavenward, deep down, I`ll show you such sights_

_Believe it, we live as we dream / scream_

_He will go down he will drown drown, deeper down_

_The river wild will take your only child_

_He will go down he will drown drown deeper down_

_The mills grind slow in a riverbed ghost town_

_He will go down he will drown drown, deeper down_

_If you want me, then do come across_

_What is it you dream of, child of mine?_

_The magic ride, the mermaid cove?_

_Never met a kinder heart than yours_

_Let it bleed_

_Leave a footprint on every island you see." _–Nightwish, _Ghost River_

* * *

"Hello, Thomas." Slowly, I turn around. The bitter cold air assaults me, but I am not cold. The warmth of the orphanage has taken me under its wing. A new face smiles upon me, but it is not human. It is that of a snowman, but not those of a children's mind. He wears a pilot's goggles and cap, and his arms are lanky and thin. There is something eerie about him, and yet he smiles at me warmly as if I were an old friend. "Oh, look who's here! An old friend!" he exclaims.

"You aren't real," I say immediately. "None of this is real." I take several steps away from the entity. "_Stay away from me_."

The snowman chuckles. "Thomas, I do not intend to harm you. And, all of this is indeed real. It is as real as your dreams."

"What the hell are you saying?" I demand. "That this is all in my head?" None of this makes any sense. Am I in the claws of the Dark Presence, sentenced to an eternity of torment? Have the fates conspired against me in retaliation of writing back my Barbara? I know I failed in conquering the Dark Presence. By any means, I should not be alive – and yet, here I stand.

"Thomas, you do not know? Do you?" the snowman asks in wonder.

"Know what?"

"You are but comatose," he explains. "The Dark Presence attacked you when you attempted to kill it with but a knife. Do you not remember?" I shake my head. The memories are hazy, a cobweb in my mind. I can slightly recall the time Barbara and I spent together: those nights we spent tangled in the sheets, making love. The kisses we shared, the whispers, every touch. I do not regret falling in love with her, in spite of all that happened afterwards. I will never love another the way I loved – love – Barbara. I longed to spend the rest of my days with her, but the stars conspired against me by ripping her away from me. "Just because this is in your head does not mean it is not real. Come with me, and I will show you everything."

"Show me everything?" I echo. "I'm in a coma. I need to wake up, and set things right! I failed to defeat the darkness –"

"There is naught you can do now," says the snowman. "You are in a coma. I will tell you more when the time is right. Will you come with me, or do you choose to stay in the haven that is your happiest childhood memories?"

I stare at him, weighing my options. No matter what I choose, there is no turning back. To stay here in the orphanage with Gem would mean turning my back to the truth – to my only chance of getting the answers I desperately seek – and to go with the snowman would mean venturing into the unknown, into a world of possibilities. A part of me refuses to believe his words – that I am indeed lying comatose in a hospital bed, alone and desolate, as a result of my own foolish actions. Another part of me knows he is not lying me. He has no reason to lie to me. "Why do you want me to come with you?"

"You know why, Thomas," he says. "The truth. Do not presume that I am oblivious to your demons. The Dark Presence rose again because you loved Barbara too much, and you loathe yourself for listening to Emil Hartman. You let yourself be seduced by his words, and in doing so, you unleashed an evil the world should never know." His voice and demeanor abruptly change. No longer is he the warm, friendly being who wished to help me. His voice becomes that of a demon, fury and hatred dripping like melting icicles from a rooftop. My blood runs cold, and for a moment, doubt manages to sliver into my mind. There is something off about this entity, and they claim to be benevolent. _There is little choice in the matter, Thomas, _a voice in the back of my mind purrs. _You must go with him. _

"You don't think I know that?" I retort. "It wasn't until it was too late that I realized my mistake in bringing back Barbara! I thought I could bring her back to me. I learned my lesson the hard way: The laws of creation are absolute. There must be a balance!" I shake my head furiously, trying to get a grip on my anger. I can't tell who I'm angry with: myself or the snowman for shoving my mistakes into my face. "And now, I am lying comatose in a hospital bed as a result of my foolishness!"

The snowman's demeanor is now eerily calm, and I mask my doubts of his true intentions. "Do you wish to seek the truth, Thomas?"

This time, I don't hesitate. I need answers, and he is the only one who can give them to me. "Yes," I say. _The truth will set you free._ I walk forth towards the snowman, sealing my decision.

"My name is Mr. White," he says with finality, "and I will show you everything."

* * *

We are soaring through the skies. I cling to Mr. White as the icy wind mercilessly assails me. I do not know what he is about to show me, but I do know something. This is all in my head, and yet it is real. Mr. White must be a fragment of my subconscious; he must be the part of me that wants to find closure. But, why now? I want to fight, to live, to right my wrongs and conquer the Dark Presence, but I can't. A sleeping man does not fight for what he wants. He merely dreams, but I am not dreaming. I am trapped in my imaginaerum. In a dream world.

"Where are we going?" I shout over the howling wind.

"To your darkest memories," answers Mr. White. _To my darkest memories?_ I almost shout in outrage. What is it in my worst memories that is so important? "I can take you only so far, and then you are on your own."

"Why are you taking me there?" I demand. This time, I get no response. I do not want to relive the darkest periods of my life. I can't go through the horror again. I'd rather be trapped beneath Cauldron Lake for an eternity than relive that time in my life. "ANSWER ME!" If he hears me, he gives no sign. The wind wails, and I can hear naught but my thoughts. I look down below us, and I can see a large river as it surges swiftly. I can't help but wonder what lurks beneath the waters. My thoughts are interrupted when I hear the familiar sound of an airplane cutting through the skies. I catch a small, yet brief, glimpse of the pilot – and for a moment, I'm startled speechless.

"That's my dad's airplane!" I exclaim. "Mr. White, we have to catch up to him!"

"No, Thomas. _No," _he says. "That is not why we are here. Even if we did seek Theodore, my magic is not strong enough."

_Bullshit, _I think angrily. "I'm going after him," I say, and without thinking, I jump. I don't know what awaits me at my destination, but all I know is that I have to see my father. The thing about falling is that it is no different than flying, except you have a more permanent destination. I was either falling to my death, or I was truly falling down the rabbit hole. I'm falling, falling, falling…

I crash into the swift waters, and the breath is violently knocked out of me. I rise to the surface, gasping and spluttering. The water is ice cold, and I struggle to stay afloat. I can barely see through the mist and the dark of the night. The river moves with almost supernatural swiftness, and only then it dawns on me. _This river flows into a waterfall. _I will plummet to my death, and back in the real world, I will die. "MR. WHITE!" I scream. "MR. WHITE! HELP ME!" I know calling for him is in vain. To him, I'm lost or dead. And I might as well be a dead man. I'm on my deathbed, and my imagination is putting me through my own hell. The waters move swiftly, dragging me along effortlessly as I desperately fight against the current.

_Gem, I am so sorry. For everything, _I think. _Barbara, I love you._ Up ahead, I see the waterfall as it drops into the abyss below and I close my eyes, and wait for death's embrace.

* * *

And yet, death does not come. I fall into the oblivion; the worst is over. My body aches, and I'm emotionally drained. The shore is just up ahead, and in the distance, there are lights. Circus lights. _Circus lights? _I shake my head, banishing my doubt from my mind. The circus is the only sign of civilization within miles, and I need help after the ordeal I've been through. I make my way to shore, and I feel something seize my ankle, yanking me under the waters. I fight against my new foe, but they are much stronger than me. The lights of the surface become dimmer and dimmer, and I scream. My scream is cut off by tender lips against mine, and a soft, seductive female voice speaks to me.

"Be not afraid of me," she purrs. "I am the dream of every man. Including you. Stay with me forever under these waters." She trails her finger down my neck, and I only fight harder. My assailant is a siren. A mermaid. "I know you desire me. You desire all of my kin. And you can have me all you want." She kisses me again, this time harder. I kick and scream and thrash against her grip as more mermaids swarm to us, dragging me down with them. _So this is how I shall die, _I muse. I am about to embrace my demise just as bullets (_bullets?) _cut through the water. The mermaids, aware of the threat, forget me as their survival instincts take over. They flee immediately, releasing me. Without hesitation, I swim towards the surface, taking in deep lungfuls of oxygen. I collapse on the sand, and everything goes black.


	4. Chapter Three: Slow, Love, Slow

"_Come and share this painting with me_

_Unveiling of me, the magician that never failed_

_This deep sigh coiled around my chest_

_Intoxicated by a major chord_

_I wonder_

_Do I love you or the thought of you?_

_Slow, love, slow_

_Only the weak are not lonely_

_Southern blue, morning dew_

_Let-down-your-guards, I-love-you`s_

_Ice-cream castles, lips-to-ear rhymes_

_A slumber deeper than time._" –Nightwish, _Slow, Love, Slow_

* * *

_ "Thomas," Gem said quietly. "I don't know if you can hear me, but…I know a lot has happened since the last time we saw one another, but I need to know the truth before you –" She cut herself off. Thomas couldn't die. Could he? She shook her head. It'd been ninths months since he'd been found on the floor in Bird Leg Cabin, the walls decorated in a vibrant blood red. The doctors had been unable to find any logical explanation why he was even still alive. He had suffered from severe – almost fatal – internal bleeding, and had fallen into a coma. With every passing day, Gem could feel Thomas slipping away from her. Further and further into oblivion, and there was nothing she could do about it but watch._

"_Why did you really leave me?" she asked him. "I'm not talking about the orphanage we lived in when we were kids, but…I _needed you. _I didn't have anyone. My father abused me in every way possible, my mother was dead, and you…you were gone!" Tears slipped down her cheeks as her emotions bubbled to the surface. "I needed you, and you abandoned me!" Gem was sobbing now. She'd never had the chance to tell Thomas of how her biological father had taken her back from the orphanage after drunkenly dropping her off there as an infant. "Do you have any idea what it felt like? Living with that bastard all my life? I wanted to kill myself! I tried reaching out to you and –" She couldn't bring herself to continue as she wept. A part of her resented Tom, but yet another part of her couldn't bring herself to simply leave him to die alone in a hospital bed. As angry and hurt as she was, she wasn't cruel._

_Drained, Gem rose from her seat and left the hospital. Tom didn't deserve her anger, not now while he was on his deathbed. She wiped her tears before climbing into her car and sparking the engine. There was somewhere she had to go. _

* * *

I am alone. My dreams give me no comfort, and as I lie on my deathbed, nobody is here to stay with me. It's tragic, but I have no family. I once wished to marry my Barbara and build a life with her, but she'd been taken too soon from me. And Gem…

_Gem! _my mind cries at the thought of her. She has no reason, no obligation, to remain by my side until the end. I know what I did. I'd foolishly left her to battle my own demons when she desperately needed me to help her fight hers. I remember her anger and her tears that day when I'd chosen to leave. I'd been selfish with her – with Barbara – and I couldn't take back my mistakes. And now, I will never be able to make things right with Gem. Death will take me before I get that chance.

* * *

_Gem pulled her car up by the bridge and climbed out. There was something about Bird Leg Cabin that called to her. Was it because it was the site where Thomas had been attacked, or was there some other force at work? She shook her head to herself and made her way inside. A chill ran up her spine as she took in her surroundings. Once, the island had been the place of a love story. _

The love story of Thomas Zane and Barbara Jagger, _she thought sourly. When she'd come to Bright Falls, stories had been running rampant. Barbara Jagger had drowned tragically in Cauldron Lake after having a passionate love affair with Thomas, who had allegedly gone mad with grief. Psychiatrist Emil Hartman had counseled him; it hadn't been long after Thomas had succumbed to his words that he'd been attacked in the cabin. The only things at the scene were a bloody knife and heart, Thomas lying unconscious on the floor. What had happened at the cabin remained a mystery to the town and was speculated by many. Gem wanted no part in their theories and stories. Thomas was dying, and that was all that mattered to her. _

_The cabin was silent, and yet, Gem could feel the ghosts of the past wandering the halls. Thomas and Barbara had fallen in love here, and their love had come to an end here. She ascended the stairs and headed into the study. A typewriter, Thomas' typewriter, still sat on the desk. The walls were a faded crimson, and the floor was tinted with blood, the only signs of the horrific tragedy that had occurred here. A piece of parchment from the typewriter caught Gem's eye. Curiously, she strode over towards it and tore out the manuscript. _

_**Barbara's body had washed ashore shortly after she'd drowned in the lake. I never thought I would be whole again those first few days after she died, but now, there is hope. Hope for me. Hope for Barbara, and our future together. **__**Hartman says I can bring her back with merely the power of words. I'm a writer and a poet. I have the power to bring her back to me, but a part of me is skeptical. What he is telling me is madness. "The world can give you miracles, Thomas," he said to me today. "If you write about Barbara, she just may come back to you." **_

_** The pen is mightier than the sword, but now, I'm beginning to believe that the pen **_**is **_**the sword. The pen is the one thing that has the power to bring her back to me. I'm not a believer in the mystical. Magic does not exist, but what if that's not true? Or am I just a man driven mad with grief who will buy into Hartman's words? **_

_**I can't live without my Barbara. She rests asleep on the couch, a reminder that it doesn't have to be like this anymore. **_

_**Her ghost haunts me everyday **_

_**I'm falling deeper into the abyss; **_

_**I am but a dead man walking**_

_**Playing the notes are not enough **_

_**To heal this hole inside me,**_

_**And there is a chance of hope **_

_**From a nonbeliever **_

_Further down, there was another poem. _

_**They say stories are not real; **_

_**That they cannot become real, **_

_**But I know now that is not true.**_

_**Memories are stories of one's lifetime,**_

_**To be shared with loved ones. **_

_**Stories are a gateway to worlds**_

_**Full of magic and mystery,**_

_**Wherever your road goes.**_

_**If stories can come to life, **_

_**Then so can my Barbara. **_

_Gem was scarcely aware of the tears streaming down her face. _Why am I here? _she asked herself. _To see if Tom even thought of you after he left? _She laughed bitterly, setting the manuscript on the desk. Tom's last written words were of the love of his life, who'd been ripped from him too soon. Was she being selfish? It was more than clear how much Tom loved Barbara. He was desperate to bring her back, and if the stories were true, it had been his despair that had been his downfall._


	5. Chapter Four: I Want My Tears Back

"_The treetops, the chimneys, the snowbed stories, winter grey_

_Wildflowers, those meadows of heaven, wind in the wheat_

_A railroad across waters, the scent of grandfatherly love_

_Blue bayous, Decembers, moon through a dragonfly`s wings_

_Where is the wonder where`s the awe_

_Where`s dear Alice knocking on the door_

_Where`s the trapdoor that takes me there_

_Where the real is shattered by a Mad March Hare_

_Where is the wonder where`s the awe_

_Where are the sleepless nights I used to live for_

_Before the years take me_

_I wish to see_

_The lost in me._" –Nightwish, _I Want My Tears Back_

* * *

I open my eyes, and let out a groan of pain and exhaustion. My body aches from the impact of plummeting down the waterfall and my vain attempts to fight against the current. I shakily climb to my hands and knees, and slowly begin to rise to my feet. The lights of the circus shine in the darkness, a beacon, calling me to safety and civilization. I don't expect Mr. White to seek me out; I willingly deserted him so I could chase after my father, and now I am lost in what would be called the deepest, darkest parts of my imagination that I rarely dared to explore in my poetry. The circus would be the gateway into the darkness, and I was without a candle, but I had no other options now.

* * *

When I finally make it to the circus, I am awestruck. It is no ordinary circus; no parent would ever take their small children here for entertainment if it were real. An ancient, barren rollercoaster track borders the circus, twisting and turning and rising and falling at every turn. I can't help but wonder where it goes, but the track is beyond repair. I shake my head. _Stop it, Thomas, _I chide myself. _This is all in your head. This strange circus, Mr. White, this rollercoaster track – none of this means anything to you. None of this is real. _

_ But it is, _a voice inside me insisted. _Just because it's in your head doesn't mean it's not real. Mr. White said it himself. You know full well what the rollercoaster track represents. How aged and childless it is! _The track is falling apart, but slowly. It is beyond repair, and there is nothing I can do but wait for the inevitable.

* * *

_Gem stared at Thomas' manuscript, his words echoing in her mind from the parchment. She quickly placed it back on the desk, and a female voice spoke from behind her. _

_ "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed. Startled, Gem whirled around to see a woman standing in the doorway, anger coloring her features. She appeared to be in her early 30s; her long, black hair framed her face, and her azure eyes were cold and hard. "Who are you?" _

_ "I-I'm sorry," Gem stammered. "I was just leaving. I'm sorry, but who are _you?"

"_I'm Ann Olson. And you?" Ann's glare was unflinching, and Gem couldn't help but wonder what had drawn Ann to Diver's Isle. It wasn't about Tom and what had happened here, was it? Tom's writings were much too valuable to be sold off to the press. The manuscript she'd found had to have been his last piece before the attack, and its contents would raise too many questions. Questions that were perhaps better left unanswered. Some would think Thomas a madman, others would question the authenticity of the story that the press had given them to conceal the truth._

_ "Gem Stark," she said evenly. "I'm close to the man who last lived here. Thomas Zane. What brings you here?" _

_ "I'm here to find answers, Gem," Ann told her. "I'm a historian, and Poet County was practically calling me." _

_ "You're here to find the truth behind what happened to Thomas." It wasn't a question. Gem slowly took a step backwards towards the desk, slowly reaching for the manuscript and pocketing it. _

_ "Yes. For a small town, Bright Falls is quite different from what you'd expect." _

_ "Are you referring to Thomas' attack?" Ann smiled. It wasn't a knowing nor cruel smile, but it confirmed Gem's fears. Gem did not know the full story of how Thomas had come to be on his deathbed, but from his writings, she knew enough to know that the story could not get out to the public. All she knew was that she had to dissuade Ann from pursuing the truth and make things right with Thomas before he died. _

_ "How'd you know?" _

_ "Lucky guess," said Gem stiffly. "I'm just in town to pay my respects. I'm not staying for long." Her gut was screaming at her to leave the cabin and go back to Thomas. She knew that Ann knew she was hiding something. "I-I should get going," she said quickly. Ann slowly stepped aside, letting her pass through the doorway, and she closed the door behind her with a sudden finality. Gem hurried back to her car, and took the manuscript out from her pocket, hastily unfolding it. Thomas' words stared back at her, and she took several deep breaths to calm herself as she read his last written words once more._

_**Barbara's body had washed ashore shortly after she'd drowned in the lake. I never thought I would be whole again those first few days after she died, but now, there is hope. Hope for me. Hope for Barbara, and our future together. Hartman says I can bring her back with merely the power of words. I'm a writer and a poet. I have the power to bring her back to me, but a part of me is skeptical. What he is telling me is madness. "The world can give you miracles, Thomas," he said to me today. "If you write about Barbara, she just may come back to you." **_

_** The pen is mightier than the sword, but now, I'm beginning to believe that the pen is the sword. The pen is the one thing that has the power to bring her back to me. I'm not a believer in the mystical. Magic does not exist, but what if that's not true? Or am I just a man driven mad with grief who will buy into Hartman's words? **_

_**I can't live without my Barbara. She rests asleep on the couch, a reminder that it doesn't have to be like this anymore.**_

_**Her ghost haunts me everyday**_

_**I'm falling deeper into the abyss;**_

_**I am but a dead man walking**_

_**Playing the notes are not enough**_

_**To heal this hole inside me,**_

_**And there is a chance of hope**_

_**From a nonbeliever**_

_**They say stories are not real; **_

_**That they cannot become real, **_

_**But I know now that is not true.**_

_**Memories are stories of one's lifetime,**_

_**To be shared with loved ones. **_

_**Stories are a gateway to worlds**_

_**Full of magic and mystery,**_

_**Wherever your road goes.**_

_**If stories can come to life, **_

_**Then so can my Barbara.**_

_Thomas hadn't gone mad, as the townspeople had come to believe. His words were singing to her a song of himself. A song of truth. She was holding in her hands a fragment of the truth behind the tragedy that had befallen Thomas. _

* * *

My blood runs cold just by looking at the track; it is haunting yet beautiful at the same time. I shake my head to myself, trying to get myself to regain my focus. _I can't stay here, _I realize, just as a bandanna is yanked into my mouth, muffling my startled screams, and a hood is pulled over my head. I make the mistake of inhaling and exhaling the foul odor inside the hood, and the world falls into blackness.

* * *

Ropes bite into my wrists and ankles. My head is throbbing from the chloroform my assailant used to subdue me, and a scarf is jammed into my mouth and tied tautly around my head. I open my eyes, and moan. The world is still dark, and it is only then that I realize a hood is obscuring my vision. _Where am I?_ I struggle against my bonds, but they are unbearably tight. Something warm seeps down my hands. Blood.

"Be heartlessly welcome! Welcome to Cirque De Morgue!" a male voice booms animatedly. "And what a show we have for you tonight!"

_ "Mmmmph-mmmph!"_ I cry out through the gag, violently shaking my head in a vain attempt to rid myself of the hood veiling my surroundings from me. _"Mmmmmmph! Mmmmmmmph!" _The hood is torn from my head, revealing a man and a woman. Both of them are ageless, neither old nor young. The man has strikingly long black hair and green eyes; his top hat sits perfectly atop his head, the textbook image of a magician. The woman bears a remarkable resemblance to him, but her irises are sapphire and jade.

"Thomas," she purrs. "We've been waiting for you. It was only a matter of time. You were bound to come here sooner or later. I am Tyanna." She strokes my hair, and kisses my forehead. The gag strangles my cries. "Marcus, show him." The man – Marcus – nods before heading behind the curtain. My intuition is telling me what they plan to show me is nothing good, and I only fight harder against the ropes.

Marcus appears again, this time with a stretcher in tow. A sheet covers the body that lies upon it. Tyanna lets out a triumphant cry and shouts, "THOMAS ZANE. A POET WITH A BAD, BAD MEMORY. A FATHER, WITH A BAD, BAD CONSCIENCE!" Marcus pulls back the sheet, and what lies beneath it leaves me screaming and choke-sobbing on the gag. _A father, with a bad, bad conscience! _I am unable to register these words and what Tyanna is forcing me to see.

"We all know your true name is not Thomas Zane," Tyanna says coldly. "_Thomas Whitman._" I can barely see the corpse of my father through my tears. My father, Theodore Whitman, the man who bore me many childhood scars. Scars that shaped me into the man I am today. "Barbara never knew the truth, nor did Gem." Marcus brandishes a knife, and slices into my father's scalp. The incision weeps tears of blood.

"Theodore killed himself, and you changed your last name to Zane," she continues. "You know this, don't you?" I nod, hot tears streaking from my eyes. The memory is hazy, but I know how my father died. The bastard shot himself in the mouth right in front of my eyes when I was just a small child after raping and killing my mother. _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. _Why was she tormenting me with these memories I'd thought I had suppressed my entire life? "I'm sure you're wondering about the 'father with a bad, bad conscience' bit I mentioned a bit earlier."

"_Mmmmph! Mmmph-mmmph! Mmmmmph!" _

"Barbara never had the chance to tell you," Tyanna whispers in my ear. "She was pregnant – and you were the father." She takes the gag out of my mouth. "She was going to tell you, but then she drowned in the lake. Writing her back the way you did wouldn't have brought back your child."

"Nonononono_no_!" This can't be true. Barbara couldn't have been pregnant the night she died. It just didn't add up.

"Thomas, I have no cause to lie to you. You seek answers, and I am giving them to you," she tells me. "Are you going to be a good boy, or do I have to gag you again?" I don't answer her. My mind is reeling from the revelation of Barbara's pregnancy. _You could have been a father. You could have married Barbara and built the family you always wished for with her. _

"I – _mmmph!" _Before I can continue, she jams the scarf back into my mouth before retying it around my head.

"Tommy, you have to journey through your memories," she explains to me. "You'll find the truth in them." I don't look at her, instead focusing on breaking the ropes binding me to the chair. The gag muffles my grunts and subsiding sobs. She takes my face in her hands, for my wrists are bound behind me, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb.

"_Mmmmph! Mmmph!" Why should I trust you? _I ask her, trying to convey the question through eye contact.

"For I am you, and you are me. We are one and the same," Tyanna says softly, "whether you like it or not." She turns her head to Marcus and orders, "It's time for him. Open the gateway to his memories."


	6. Chapter Five: Scaretale

"_Once upon a time in a daymare_

_Dying to meet you, little child, enter enter this sideshow_

_Time for bed the cradle still rocks_

_13 chimes on a dead man`s clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock_

_The bride will lure you, cook you, eat you_

_Your dear innocence boiled to feed the evil in need of fear_

_Burning farms and squealing pigs_

_A pool of snakes to swim with, oh sweet poison bite me bite me_

'_Ladies and gentlemen_

_Be heartlessly welcome!_

_To Cirque De Morgue_

_And what a show we have for you tonight!'_

_Restless souls will put on their dancing shoes_

_Mindless ghouls with lot of limbs to lose_

_Illusionists, contortionist,_

_Tightrope - walkers tightening the noose_

_Horde of spiders, closet tentacles_

_Laughing harpies with their talons ripping, sher-chrisss, per-vizzz_

_The pendulum still sways for you_

_Such are the darks here to show you, child in a corner, fallen mirrors, all kingdom in cinders_." –Nightwish, _Scaretale _

* * *

"It's time for him," said Tyanna to Marcus. "Open the gates to his memories." She turns her focus back to me and pulls the bag back over my head. I mumble through the gag, fighting in vain against the ropes binding me to the chair. "We both know you won't go through your memories if you catch a glimpse of what you're about to relive." I heard her brandish a knife as she began to cut through the ropes biting into my ankles. I kick my legs, trying to get the blood flowing again. The ropes on my wrists are still tight, but I know that with enough effort, I will be able to break them.

Tyanna grabs me by the arm, forcing me to the entryway to my reminiscences. "You're running out of time, Thomas. Go through your memories, find the truth, and whatever you do, _do not trust Mr. White._"

_Don't trust Mr. White? _I jerk my head towards her, and through the gag, I try to ask why. It comes out as muffled grunting. "_Mmmph-mmmmph-mmmph! Mmmph!" _This entire thing is all in my head, I remind myself. I am lying comatose in a hospital. Marcus and Tyanna are a part of me.

"Marcus, give it to me," she orders, and she speaks once again to me. Through the hood, I am able to faintly see Marcus giving her – "The brain of Theodore Whitman," she says to me. "He is a dead man, and soon, you will be as well. Your memories are fading, Thomas. That is why you must go." Tyanna drags me along further, and I fight her the entire time.

_I AM NOT GOING. _A sharp, crushing blow strikes my chest, and I double over, wheezing and struggling to breathe through the scarf in my mouth and the hood obscuring my vision. "You're going whether you like it or not," Marcus intones. "Tyanna and I believed you would go willingly and without question, but we see that is not the case, hence we were forced to tie and gag you." I moan in pain through the gag. "You have always been a fighter, and that is both your greatest strength and biggest flaw – but enough of idle talk. _GO_, and don't come back." Tyanna violently shoves me forward, and I fall into the oblivion, and into my deepest memories.

* * *

I crash onto the rough pavement, and I groan in aching. I quickly begin fighting the remainder of the ropes, and after several long moments, they fall away from me. I rip the hood from my head and scramble to untie the gag, tossing it and the hood aside. My jaw is throbbing from how taut the scarf was in my mouth. I glance up ahead towards my destination. A house stands before me, a mansion growing old with age.

_ My father's home, _I realize. This is the very place of some of my worst memories, and I know I don't have a choice. I can't turn back. I have to uncover a truth, but what truth is there to find? And why did Tyanna tell me not to trust Mr. White? He is my only ally, the only friend in this strange, haunting, fantastical realm. The night is dead silent, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something is not right here. I slowly walk up to the house and turn the doorknob.

"Hello?" I call out. "Is anyone here?" Darkness greets me at the doorway, and for a moment, I think I hear muffled screaming coming from upstairs. _Oh my god. _

"NO! THEODORE, PLEASE NO!" a woman shrieks. "I BEG YOU, DON'T HURT OUR SON! DON'T HURT OUR THOMAS!" There is a sharp, loud crack, and I know that my father has struck my mother. _Crash! _Glass shatters, and I rush up the stairs. Another jolt echoes throughout the house, and my blood boils. I find my parents in their bedroom, my father towering over my mother menacingly. She is bruised and battered, sobbing brokenly. Her cheek is red from her husband's strikes, and her wrists are bound with cords.

_Where am I? _I wonder. _What the hell did Theodore do to me when he was tormenting my mother? _My thoughts are interrupted when my mother begins to scream again, as my father mounts her, violently tearing her clothes off her as she kicks and thrashes against him. He clamps a hand over her mouth, and tears of rage suddenly burn in my eyes. I should have done something this night, to save her, but I didn't. _Do I truly have to relive this night? _Tears streaking down my face, I force myself to leave the room. I have to find myself, and find my next memory. This is only one of the memories I have long suppressed from my mind. I hurry to the other bedroom, only to find nothing. My father did something to me that night, and I can't remember. I know what I'm searching for in this memory is not the truth I need to find, but I need to know. I search the entire house, my mother's screaming echoing in my ears and mind the entire time, and there is no sign that I was even present in the domicile this night.

My emotions are spiraling within me. So many emotions at once are threatening to overwhelm me. I am terrified of what my memories hold – what this sole memory holds for me. I am furious with my father for inflicting so much abuse towards me and my mother. I loathe myself for unleashing the Dark Presence upon the world. I am desperate to survive, but there is no evading death. I am going to die. I rush downstairs to the attic, and it is there that I see a small boy, whose innocence was wrongly destroyed. He is bound and gagged, his young eyes dead and emotionless. My blood runs cold. A gunshot rings throughout the house, and a tear slips from his eye. I am him, and he is me. A dead boy.

* * *

It is time for me to go. This memory does not hold the truth I seek; instead, it holds a lifetime of trauma and scars that will never heal. I find myself going back upstairs to my parents' bedroom. Theodore slowly stalks out of the room and goes downstairs, blood covering his hands and dotting his face. A vicious part of me is glad he will die soon, and by his own hand, no less. My mother's body rests on the bed, a bullet in her forehead. The sheets are red with her blood, and a sob rises from my chest. A part of me is relieved Theodore did not show me her body upon murdering her, and another part of me is horrified at the gruesome sight. I close her eyes, and weep.

* * *

"_Ms. Stark?" the doctor asked gently. Gem looked up from Thomas' manuscript, quickly putting it into her pocket. She was sitting once again by Thomas' side, waiting for the inevitable to pass. _

"_Yes?" she said. "What is it, doctor?" _Don't get your hopes up, _she told herself. _Thomas isn't going to miraculously wake up. _"How is he? Is he okay?" _

"_Ms. Stark, Thomas is a unique case. He is in his early thirties, and yet he is displaying symptoms that should not be visible at his age. His mind is still active, but he has flat-lined on us several times on us within the nine months he has been here with us. It is as if his body is slowly shutting down." _

"_What are you trying to say?" Gem snapped, rising to her feet. Deep down, she knew what the doctor was going to ask her. Tom's life was in her hands, and all she needed to do was sign a piece of paper. "You want me to sign a DNR form," she said slowly. _

"_I'm sorry, Ms. Stark, but with the state Thomas is in, we need your consent to this. If you sign this, we will let him pass on in peace. If you choose not to sign, then we will continue to do what we can to keep him alive." He gave her the folder with the papers. "Thomas has no living relatives, which leaves you to make the decision. Take all the time you need." _


	7. Chapter Six: Arabesque

_"Thomas has no living relatives, which leaves you to make the decision. Take all the time you need." Gem stared wordlessly at the doctor, who quickly left the room. She placed the papers down beside her purse, and buried her face in her hands in anguish. Thomas was dying, and it was up to her whether or not to simply let him die, or continue fighting to keep him alive. It was simple, but the choice was evil. _

_ "Thomas is quite young to be in the state he is in." Startled, Gem looked up to see Ann standing in the doorway, her face sympathetic. "You know, to this day, nobody knows what happened to him." _

_ "Some stones are better left unturned, Ann," she said. "The truth can be a blessing or a curse." She sighed. "They want me to sign a DNR order. Thomas has been suffering for too long now." _

_ Ann cocked her head slightly. "Something is stopping you from going through with it," she observed, noting her hesitation. She approached Gem and sat in a chair across from her. No longer was she the journalist determined to uncover the truth behind the tragedy of Diver's Isle. "What is it?" _

_ "Tom and I, we…have a history together that stretches back to our childhood," she began slowly. "When we were little kids, we spent much of our childhood in an orphanage and we became the best of friends." She chuckled. "I gave him a snow globe with this small dancing figurine inside of it as a token of friendship. Arabesque, I called her. Time passed, and he was eventually picked up from the orphanage by a…Theodore, I think his name was. I didn't think I would see him again after he left, and I too was taken in." She was scarcely aware of her own tears as she spoke. "My life was hell after my father took me in. He…touched me, and abused me. My mother, I don't know what happened to her, if she's dead or still alive. I was eventually able to get in contact with Tom, but when we finally talked…he refused to listen to me. He refused to help me. It wasn't until afterwards that my father found out about our meeting, and he went berserk." _

_ "Is your father still alive?" _

_ "No," said Gem. "He was going to kill me, and I did what I had to." _I stabbed him with his own knife, _she thought to herself,_ and I was only fifteen years old. _"I-I've been on my own ever since." _

_ "How did you come to hear about what happened to Thomas?" asked Ann gently. _

_ "I got a phone call from the hospital, which is funny because I'm not one of Tom's relatives. His family line is dead," she said. _

_ "It sounds as if he put his trust in you, Gem. I understand he was madly in love with Barbara Jagger, but for him to trust you with something as crucial as this instead of the love of his life, that's got to mean something." She met her eyes earnestly. There was no sign that she was just trying to gather more details for the sake of a story for the press. _

_ "He left me with my abusive father, Ann! I'm sorry that I can't quite bring myself to forgive him for that, even though he is on his deathbed right now!" Gem was shouting, and she abruptly rose from her chair, taking the papers with her on the way out. _

Am I cruel for not forgiving him? _she asked herself. _Do I have the right to be angry with him now that he's dying, or am I being too harsh now that the circumstances have changed?

_ "Gem! Gem, wait!" Ann grabbed her by the arm, and she whirled on her. "You're on edge, and under a lot of stress. Please, let me help you. I can help you get through this." _

_ "How?" Gem cried. "How can you help me? Tom is dying, and all I can do is sit here and watch while trying to decide whether or not to sign this goddamned DNR order!" _

_ "Gem, I'm a journalist," Ann began. "There is something you want to find before Thomas dies, isn't there?" _

_ "How the hell…?" _

_ "Call it a reporter's intuition," she said shortly. "Listen to me. If you want me to, I'll do some digging and we'll see what I can find." Gem was silent, her only response a defiant stare. "I know we didn't get off on the right foot when we first met, but we both want something: the truth." _

_ "So, what the hell is this to you, Ann?" Gem demanded. "A golden story that's going to win you the Pulitzer Prize? After all, that's why you're even here in Bright Falls, right?" _

_ "Gem…" _

_ "No, Ann. You want to know what truth I want to find?" she went on hotly. "I want to know why Tom resented me enough to brush me aside when I needed him. I want to know what I did to earn his hatred. After all these years, I think I deserve the truth. You…you just want to be the one to unravel the mystery behind Diver's Isle and what happened there. You don't give a damn about me nor Thomas, do you?" _

_ Ann's palm struck her face like a cobra attacking a predator. "My offer still stands," she said coldly. "Here's my card." She gave Gem a small card before storming off. "Make the right choice." _

* * *

_ The cabin was hauntingly beautiful, as the sun began to set behind it. What was it about this place that always brought her back? Gem made her way inside and upstairs to Tom's study. _

So much has happened here within a short matter of time, _she thought to herself. _Tom, why did you listen to Emil? _She stroked the bookcase. The novels were beginning to collect dust. She and Tom had shared a great love of literature, music, and poetry when they were children. _

_ "Hi, I'm Gem," she'd said to him upon their first encounter. _

_ "Like the piano chords?" Tom had joked, and they'd both laughed. "G and E minor? I'm Thomas. Thomas Zane." And from there, their friendship had blossomed into something rare and beautiful. Gem smiled at the memory. They'd just been a couple of kids who had been drawn together by chance, and she couldn't deny it; Tom had been the best thing to happen to her. _

_ Arabesque danced upon the shelf, young and all alone. Even after all this time, Tom had cherished her. Gem took Arabesque in her hands, fragile yet beautiful at the same time. "Arabesque," she said softly. "So much has changed over the years, and you are the only one who has remained constant." She smiled sadly before placing Arabesque back on the mantelpiece. Soon, she would gather dust from old age and be forgotten. _


	8. Chapter Seven: Turn Loose the Mermaids

"_A kite above a graveyard grey_

_At the end of the line far far away_

_A child holding on to the magic of birth and awe_

_Oh, how beautiful it used to be_

_Just you and me far beyond the sea_

_The waters, scarce in motion_

_Quivering still_

_At the end of the river the sundown beams_

_All the relics of a life long lived_

_Here, weary traveller rest your wand_

_Sleep the journey from your eyes_

_Good journey, love, time to go_

_I checked your teeth and warmed your toes_

_In the horizon I see them coming for you." –_Nightwish, _Turn Loose the Mermaids_

* * *

I take a deep, shaky breath and wipe my tears as I rise from my mother's body resting on the bed. I need to leave, and go deeper into my memories. Now is not the time for grieving for the mother I never truly had. I kiss her forehead, before turning to the door. I open the gateway to my next memory, but just as I am about to step through, I stop in my tracks. Instead of a memory, there is oblivion. A jade fog awaits me, the unknown lurking beneath. I don't have any other choice, and I jump. For a moment, I think I hear Mr. White calling out to me from my last memory, and something sparks inside of me. Not hope, but fear. I don't know if I can trust him, and I can't take any chances. I'm too vulnerable, and I don't know exactly what part of me he is. _I can only trust myself_, I realize.

"_Thomas_!" he shouts. "Tommy, boy! I know you're here somewhere! You can only run so far from me _in your own mind_!" His words only prove my greatest fears. I am not safe, not even in my imaginaerum, the greatest part of my subconscious. The part of my subconscious that has created this fantasy world.

* * *

It seems like I am falling into forever, until I finally crash onto something soft. The room is dark, save for the flames igniting from the fireplace. I take in my surroundings, and a woman speaks softly to me. "Thomas, love, it's alright. You're with me," she murmurs. She takes my face in her hands and kisses me. "I love you."

"Barbara?" I ask. "Barbara…oh my god. I didn't think – I didn't think I would ever see you again." I caress her golden hair and her face, trying to convince myself that this is real – that _she _is real. Tears of joy spill down my cheeks. "I love you, and I am so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she says softly. "What happened to me…you are not to blame yourself." She smiles. "We're together again, and that is what matters." She kisses me again, this time fiercely. Desperately. Passionately. I whisper words of love to my Barbara between kisses; it is impossible to tell where I begin and she ends. We fall into bed, lost in our passion for one another. I am filled with ecstasy; Barbara and I have been granted another chance to build a life together, to spend the rest of our lives with one another. Our time together was cut short, but I've been given another chance.

Barbara pulls away from me breathlessly, and I comb my hand through her hair. She purrs seductively, threads of darkness embracing her. "Oh, Tom," she murmurs. "We are going to have so much fun together." My love smiles, but there is something shifty about her. She cocks her head to the side like a curious animal, and when she kisses me again, there is something almost animalistic about her. These are not the tender yet passionate kisses my Barbara always gave me. I push her off me, and scramble off the bed.

"You're not my Barbara!" I exclaim.

"Why of course I am, Tom," she says. "Come back to bed, Tom. Make love to me." She climbs off the bed and draws towards me. "Be not afraid of me."

"You're not my Barbara," I repeat. _This is another memory, _I realize. _The night where I unleased the Dark Presence upon the world. _"I should never have brought you back!" I run down the stairs, and I know the monster possessing my paramour is after me. I grab a knife, and when I turn around, she is standing there.

"Put that knife down!" she cries, but I know it is not Barbara calling out to me. I lunge forward, and I feel the knife impale her chest. She screams, but I force myself to twist the knife deeper inside of her. Blood squirts onto my hands, and there is no turning back. I push her away from me, and she falls to the floor, the dagger protruding from her stomach. Blood quickly pools beneath her, and I scoop her into my arms, hurrying to my study.

My hands are shaking as I tie her to the chair. Barbara fights against the ropes, but her stab wound has weakened her. "You won't kill me, Tom," she spits. "You wouldn't murder the woman you love, now would you?"

_The woman I love drowned in the lake. What came back is a monster. _I drive the knife further inside of her, and her screams pierce my ears. I don't know how long it lasts, but suddenly, she grabs the knife and flings it away. It skids across the floor, and the last thing I see is the face of a demon.

* * *

My eyes fly open, and I jolt upright with a shout. My father is sitting by the fireplace, a gun in his hand. "Theodore?" I ask shakily.

"I killed her," he confesses flatly. "I killed your mother." I shake my head furiously, tears making their way down my cheeks. I can't be living this again. It hurts too much.

"NO!" I shout. "Why, why did you bring me here? WHY DID YOU KILL HER?" I rise to my feet. "ANSWER ME!"

"I brought you with me in hopes of repenting my sins, Thomas," he says. "I took your mother by force, and shot her through the head, and I kidnapped my own son. The Lord will send me to Hell for what I've done. No matter what I do, my soul will rest in hellfire. May He have mercy on you."

"What are you saying?" I demand, but I know all too well what he means. He lifts his gun into his mouth, and pulls the trigger. The shot echoes throughout the house, and I scream. "NO!" My father falls from the chair, and I sink by his body, tears of horror streaking down my cheeks. I clutch my head in my hands, and a keening wail escapes me. My emotions are in turmoil. I am devastated that my mother is dead by my father's hand. I am horrified that the man shot himself before my eyes. I am grateful that I never have to endure his cruelty again. I am angry that because of him, I have no one left to turn to. I bury my face in my hands, and sob brokenly.


End file.
